


Sun in Your Lap

by daretoweeb (foreverairling)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Baking, Birthday Party, Fluff, Keith has anxiety, Kissing, Leap Year, M/M, Pining, Swearing, but it works out, hunks a good boy who bakes too much probably, plance if u squint - Freeform, takes place in 2024 so just assume theyre all in their 20s, theyre older and work in a NASA type place how original
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverairling/pseuds/daretoweeb
Summary: Shiro's real birthday is finally upon them and he's not the only one who's getting a surprise this year. AKA: Keith pines, Hunk bakes... and vice versa.





	Sun in Your Lap

**Author's Note:**

> *comes back a year later with 10k of heith baking* you're welcome
> 
> just a PSA! this fic includes intense keith/shiro feelings but they're not necessarily romantic in nature. though feel free to interpret them any way you like! just wanted to warn ye who enter in case it was a squick or something you prefer not to read  
> you're also free to imagine any pronouns you like for pidge, I left it ambiguous because I like it that way :)
> 
> onward!

Hunk’s head pops into the common room briefly before it disappears. Keith looks up from his report ([magazine](http://emgn.com/entertainment/12-ridiculously-dumb-seen-tv-products/) snuck inside) and keeps his eyes on his afterimage. A few minutes pass without return and Keith turns a page, back to lounging comfortably on the cushy sofa. His report… ‘reports’ he, too, can “sit and get fit” in the Hawaii Chair. And for that much? And what the hell were these Sauna Pants? But then- movement draws his eyes back to the doorway.

Hunk’s head has peeked in again. He stares until Keith raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t seem to be moving and Keith takes another cursory glance around the room. Nope, still just him on this couch and Hunk... behind that wall.

“Uh, hey?” Keith chances, slowly closing his, ahem, documents. 

“Hey,” Hunk nods, his floating head making it look odd. When neither commit to starting a real conversation, Hunk clears his throat. He momentarily retreats, reducing himself to a dark tuft of hair that makes Keith smile weakly before he reappears. “You, uh, seen anyone around?” 

Keith’s eyes flick around. “Like, in here, or-” 

“No, no!” Hunk bursts. “No, I mean like, around. I can’t find anybody and I wanted to talk to you guys.”

Keith shrugs. “I think they all said something about getting Shiro some last minute things and then left in one of the company vans,” he mumbles, scratching his cheek idly. He thinks back to Lance’s harder than necessary shoulder pat (smack) as he passed him, asking if he wanted to tag along. Remembers watching Pidge scuffling with Coran for the keys and win. 

Keith had shaken his head and feigned report proofreading. 

In actuality though, he’s been exhausted. With Shiro's surprise party coming so soon, a weeks' worth of work tasks had been crammed into five days and work was always plentiful. Unlike the others, however, Keith had gotten Shiro's gift months ago, so he and he alone was immune to the chaos of shopping under the wire. Losers.

Keith hears Hunk snicker from behind the wall. He thinks anyway; the wall is doing a good job being a wall. “You didn’t go with them?” the wall interrogates. Keith shrugs. Hunk reappears to nod understandably. “Cool, cool, well I see you’re obviously up to your eyeballs in work so I’ll just see you later, then,” Hunk bids and begins to disappear again, his hand coming up to wave behind their partition. 

Keith clears his throat as he watches Hunk retract his disembodied hand. “Well, uh, what’s up? Did you need anything?” Keith asks as Hunk peeps, piqued, back in.

Hunk itches his neck subconsciously before he finally emerges from his dwelling as a hallway gnome, his prominent voice taking up all the empty corners of the common room. “You sure? I mean, it’s kinda not that important and it looks like you have work to do,” he explains as he sits on Keith’s claimed couch. Keith guiltily looks down at his concealed ‘responsibilities’ and shakes his head. 

Hunk remains silent like he’s not sure if he really should say whatever he clearly came to. “Hunk,” Keith prompts as he looks straight at him. Hunk shrugs, sufficiently pacified. 

“Well, I was just going to ask if anyone was willing to help with the baking for tomorrow,” Hunk says as he avoids eye contact and stares, in longing maybe, at the opposite wall. Huh, maybe he really likes that wall. Hunk clears his throat again, regaining Keith’s attention.

Hunk glances back at him and Keith momentarily catches his eyes. They’re a lot deeper up close. Maybe a bit nervous. When Keith doesn’t prod further, he continues on rapidly, “It’s not really a big deal since I was pretty certain I’d have it all under control as the great one-man show that I am but since work seems to have piled up at an alarming rate, I have less time than I thought and more baking than I originally realized so I was just,” his eyes flit to Keith and away again, “thinking I’d recruit a second in command, a right-hand man, a partner in baking crime, if you will,” he babbles. Keith wonders how many words per minute Hunk’s capable of. He bets Lance would know. 

Keith parts his lips to reply but before he can Hunk is heaving himself off the couch and making his way across the room again. “Nah, you know what, I can do this, I’ve done this plenty of times and today’s no different,” he seems to assure himself. With a bright and large grin he throws over his shoulder he’s gone. Keith blinks at the empty room. Closes his mouth and opens it again, a little bit at a loss. He hasn’t heard Hunk talk that fast in a while, it usually being reserved for his more neurotic days including stressful situations where thinking fast is required. Hunk’s better at that, nowadays.

He’s also not as wary of Keith anymore, which reminds him of a painful conversation had at night in a dark common room, beers present and pang in his chest. He doesn’t like to think about that much. And although Keith is certain things are better between them the present situation almost assures him it's not. Huh. But Keith knows a lot more about Hunk compared to their first year, and it makes Keith’s chest solidify with resolve.

He sighs to the room and gets off the cushions. He knows where he wants to go and his feet take him there. The mess hall kitchen is grand and sparkling, just how he knows Hunk likes it. 

He raps on one of the doors a little louder than intended, as evidenced by the thunk of Hunk's head hitting the counter from beneath, having his exploration into the Unknown abruptly interrupted. Although Keith isn't sure it's the Unknown for Hunk; he probably knows it even better than the kitchen staff. Keith bets Hunk likes it that way too.  


Keith grimaces in sympathy but gets to the point. “You need help?” he calls from the double doors. Keith doesn't venture into kitchens much so he feels a little uncertain being here, though mostly because he’s not sure Hunk really meant help from anybody, as in him included. However, he’s intrigued and wants to lend a hand when he can. Most of the time. 

Hunk emerges into the known universe from his crouch behind the stainless steel kitchen island. “Oh hey, Keith buddy,” he starts, seemingly a little puzzled from Keith’s star appearance in his proclaimed one-man show. He’s quiet for a moment before he puts down whatever he was apparently fishing for, a hand mixer Keith thinks? And something that looks oddly like a metal can with a crank but is probably not a metal can. There were a few of each. 

“What’s up?” Even though he seems a little thrown, his disposition already appears different from in the lounge. His shoulders are loose, his hands busy and his eyes bright. It reminds Keith of how he sometimes catches glimpses of him in his workspace alone, working diligently on gathering information for a theory he wants to present at the next meeting. It always gave Hunk a glow of purpose and Keith some sort of inspiration. He always lingered a while when he witnessed it. It only reinforces his uncertainty being here because maybe Hunk really didn’t need or want his helping hands. But Keith can’t control the desire to assist; to loiter in the presence of Hunk’s halo. 

However reluctant he actually is, “I want to help,” Keith states. Hunk cracks a small smile. From a distance, it almost looks like a smirk and it momentarily jumbles Keith’s stomach. 

“You sure you wanna help?” Hunk asks, voice poking at Keith’s remaining reservations.

“Why else would I be here?” he prickles. “I mean, I just want to help.” Hunk grins again, and Keith clears his throat.  


“Just making sure!” Hunk surrenders. “I’m not goin’ to make a cake by myself and slap your name on it just because you were present.”

“Since when do you sign cakes?” Keith smarts, habitually crossing his arms. Hunk notices his half-smile and chuckles.

“Fair enough,” Hunk acquiesces and turns to root around in the top cupboards which Keith assumes is going to happen a lot. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes but when he realizes, ingredients pile the counter, baking tools are everywhere and aprons are present. This is serious business. They’re really doing this and Keith is here to stare- help. Not stand around while Hunk whirls around the kitchen comfortable and single-minded. And definitely not to occasionally get bumped into for being in the way. He can do this. He can grab flour, he can sift the powdered sugar and probably crack some eggs. To combine those steps and a hazardous amount more, and do them as fast as Hunk probably can? Improbable; impossible. But Keith is never one to back down from a fight, and this ring is in the kitchen. 

Except… he’s still standing stock still and he doesn’t even know what they’re making. Does this recipe even require powdered sugar? Was that playdough Keith saw wrapped in cellophane? Clearly, some complicated phenomenon was afoot. 

Since Hunk had apparently begun with some expectation of Keith to follow, he speaks up. “So, uh, what exactly are we making? And how many?” his voice wavers slightly. 

Hunk looks over from where he’s begun separating ingredients into measuring tools and sighs in good-nature. He takes Keith’s arm with his warm palm and tugs him to the counter where Keith assumes they’ll be stationed. “Well, I wanted to make a strawberry cheesecake, maybe some custard tarts, and hopefully some florentines.” Hunk shrugs, like Keith doesn’t blank after the first familiar word, cheesecake, and cling to nothing else. 

Keith coughs and nods, keeping quiet in hopes Hunk won’t feel his brain doing mental long division where he tries to add cheesecake, multiply it by something called custard and divide by whatever the fuck florentines are. Or maybe, if Hunk does realize the cognitive discombobulation Keith is going through he'll give him a cheat sheet. Regardless, what it amounts to is Keith’s current state as he stares at the counter in mental combustion until Hunk snorts into his arm. 

“Woah, calm down bud, I can smell your exhaust pipe backfiring from here,” Hunk chortles. Keith tries not to scowl, but Hunk’s warm teasing laughter makes it difficult. 

Keith looks around the room for something familiar to identify in an effort to keep his dignity. Hunk quiets and drops a heavy arm across his shoulders in what feels like reassurance. “Hey it’s alright, I’ll show you the basics,” Hunk winks from beside him. 

Keith has to look up at him from his peripheral and it makes him feel a little surrounded. Not in a bad way, but like he’s in Hunk’s territory and he’d best listen. He needs to accept he’s out of his element here.

“Just explain what those are in… simpler terms,” Keith ventures.

Hunk nods. “Sure, of course,” he relents, and still holding Keith somewhat hostage, reaches across the expanse of gleaming chrome and picks up a book with colorful depictions of probable desserts... Maybe; Keith isn’t really counting on knowing anything right now. 

Hunk flips through the book one-handed and stops at a large picture of what looks like small pies with fruit piled on top. Keith has to admit they look pretty appealing. He wonders if he can really take part in making something that delicate and have it come out so inviting. 

Hunk pats his shoulder lightly and gestures to the titled section ‘Tarts.’ Ah, that’s that solved for now. “These are like the custard tarts I was thinking of making, except with vanilla custard instead of lemon and more fruit on top,” Hunk goes on, and Keith nods like he understands and knew there was more than one type of custard. 

Objectively, Keith knows what Hunk is talking about isn’t actually rocket science for a change, and once Hunk explains Keith is actually pretty on board mentally. But Keith has never ventured into the world of baking and he’s already impressed with Hunk’s obvious amassed knowledge. 

There was one mystery that still needed solving. “Okay, but what the fu- hell are florentines,” Keith fidgets. Hunk smiles again and Keith preoccupies himself with the pretty pictures. 

“Florentines are fucking delicious and they’re God’s gift to chocolate lovers,” Hunk asserts, sounding smug. His voice spikes in Keith’s ears, something about hearing Hunk curse so starkly makes his stomach jump with something undefinable. 

Keith doesn’t answer but watches as Hunk flips through the pages quickly until he stops at a page titled ‘Florentines/Lace Cookies’ and almost feels triumphant at recognizing the cookies themselves. Keith swallows saliva just looking at them; Hunk seems to notice with a squeeze of Keith’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, they’re one of my favorites but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make them in time,” Hunk says somewhat sadly. Another squeeze to his shoulder, “But maybe that can change,” he smiles winningly. Keith doesn’t realize he’s staring until he does. He looks back at the page with what looks like an extensive list of steps and ingredients and gulps. Time will tell.  


Now that Keith was on the same page, “Are you sure about the strawberry cheesecake? It’s a bit sweet, don’t you think?” he points out. Keith looks over at Hunk who looks contemplative in turn. 

“What have you got against sweets, Keither?” he jostles, arm encompassing and warm. 

Keith jostles back, “It’s not me, jerk, I’m just making sure you know that Shiro isn’t particularly partial to sweet and rich stuff,” Keith, now pink, nods to the book. “Probably like strawberry cheesecake and those cookies,” he says quietly. 

Hunk squints. Looks sideways at Keith in his earnest and back at the book. Keith tries not to squirm; he doesn’t want to mess up Hunk’s plan of attack here but he hopes he’s useful. “He loves coffee flavored things though,” Keith charitably speaks up.

Finally, Hunk seems to come to a decision and pats Keith’s shoulder again, eyes bright. “Then we have our work cut out for us, bud.” 

Sometime later, Keith is confronted with a plan, more ingredients, and even more steps needed to make this happen. Tiramisu. Yes, he might possibly know what that is. Mostly. With the ever wise guidance of Hunk and his gentle, somewhat mocking explanations and reassurances in the form of: “Okay, please stop high-fiving the stove, I promise it’s on,” Keith isn’t the most confident, but he’s eager to learn. 

During their conference of All Things Shiro, Keith divulges crucial information about Shiro’s amor of coffee in almost any form. That is to say, they’re going to pump this tiramisu full of caffeine and sugar and hope nobody passes out. Except perhaps from shock and amazement of their creation and not a health problem. Keith tries not to let that dominate his thoughts and hopes Shiro will love it. He's at least pretty sure he will. Probably.  


Luckily, they have the means to make the strongest caffeine needed with Shiro’s coveted espresso machine, and by some miracle almost all ingredients already gathered correspond with the game change. And thus things are on track. 

Hunk thanks him enthusiastically for the heads up, and insists he wouldn’t have forgiven himself for his misguidance. Keith realizes exactly how personally invested Hunk is in tomorrow going well, and he finds his chest slightly tightening at the thought.

It’s apparent that Hunk feels more confident in himself and his work when in the kitchen, and it ignites a ball of warm respect in Keith’s stomach. He watches Hunk flit around the kitchen’s carefully cluttered space and observes the quiet, self-assured smile on Hunk’s face. He could have been floating from counter to counter with the glow surrounding him, looking the most serene Keith has probably ever seen him. It was a good look. 

Keith’s chest becomes buoyed with intermingling feelings of intention and determination. He’s going to try his best, not only for Shiro but also for Hunk as he steels himself in baking spirit. 

Keith's so fired up Hunk has to step in as Keith tries to whisk the best he ever has. He's so focused on incorporating the eggs and sugar completely by mixing at optimal speed (as in the fastest he can), that the bowl itself is in danger of ricocheting out of his hand due to the sheer force of the ingredients being thrashed around. Whisk included. Not to mention the fact that he was whisking for his life over a hot pot of water on a stove. 

Keith doesn’t realize Hunk is there until he steps behind him, calmly yet firmly catching Keith’s propellor hand in his. His other hand straightens the bowl that threatened to tip into the no-fly-zone, which meant anywhere it wasn't supposed to be like on their face burning their skin off. Keith was cutting it close.

All at once, Keith feels dark-skinned hands cover his cramping ones and the chest at his back. Warmth swathes up his arms and surges into his chest, where it meets the source behind his shoulder blades. Ironically, he freezes and looks into the wilting peaks at his -their- hands blankly. Hunk’s voice comes from somewhere nearby his burning ears, quiet and amused and Keith feels like escaping into the unknown dimension of the counter cabinets to avoid whatever feeling it’s giving him. 

“I promise they’re whisked, you got ‘em good,” Hunk chuckles weakly, his breath brushing Keith's left ear. His hands squeeze simultaneously, and if he hadn’t been holding Keith's hands Keith knew the kitchen utensils would be on the ground. 

“Unfortunately, whisking over a stove doesn’t usually include burning your hands off or starting a kitchen fire so I’m afraid if I don’t intervene we’re gonna be cleaning up before we’ve gotten started. But that was some stellar whisking, dude,” Hunk praises genuinely. He releases Keith almost immediately, but it feels like minutes have passed and in that time Keith can recognize how much of the room smells of vanilla. But maybe that was just Hunk; everything smells like Hunk right now. 

Keith shivers as Hunk’s encompassing presence is removed and the warmth gradually recedes, leaving his fingertips tingling in confusion. 

As they make their way through the menial steps together, Hunk admittedly doing most of the work which there’s a lot of, Keith eventually mellows and tries to follow his enthusiastic example. Once the tiramisu is done and cooling in the fridge for the next day, they move onto the custard tarts. Keith has a bit of trouble with them like he expected; intricate details fumbled a little with clumsy, nervous fingers. That is until Hunk reminds him of his ability to handle minute details in his equipment, highlighting that only the materials and location had changed. Admittedly, it’s not a perfect analogy but Keith recognizes and appreciates his point nonetheless and is able to calm considerably. 

Candied fruit is the figurative cherry on top of the tarts, and once they’re done Keith can hardly believe he had taken part. Hunk laughs raucously and throws an arm around him again, flicking his nose at his admission and smiling, “I knew you could do it, you goof, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Keith finds himself smiling back. 

They both help themselves to leftover fruit and Keith surprises himself by throwing a few blueberries at Hunk, who tries to catch them all in his mouth. He's mostly unsuccessful. Unsurprisingly, it sparks somewhat of a competition which leaves them panting and laughing a little too loudly for the time it looks outside. They catch their breath leaning against their workstation war zone, candied berries sticky in Hunk's hair, and Keith red-faced and still occasionally snorting. 

Finally, they make their way through to the lace cookies both are looking forward to. They brew more coffee either of them thinks necessary, perhaps in the excitement of their brilliant plan for coffee and chocolate infused florentines. Keith’s technically the brain behind the idea, Hunk reminds, but without Hunk it wouldn’t have come to fruition, Keith interjects, so they high-five for their teamwork.

Steps are followed... then reread, revised, and ultimately done correctly. They don’t have time for any more flubs considering how late it’s getting and how many they’re going to make, but they make good time. Coffee probably contributed. 

Once the cookies are baked and cooling, Hunk and Keith take a small break amid the madness to contemplate their teammates. “I’m sure they’re back by now, they have to be,” Keith reckons, his mug of hot cocoa soothing his sore fingers. Baking is hard work.  


Hunk hums beside him, twisting slightly in his stool. “Probably, but if you’re right and Pidge was driving... they could be in a ditch right now,” he says sipping daintily, eyebrows raised. Keith chuckles and lightly thumps his shoulder. When Hunk shrugs and doesn’t amen himself, Keith laughs a little louder.

“Could be, jerk, but I bet they’re wondering where we are,” he surmises. Hunk doesn’t comment but offers more whip cream for his mug. As they indulge in hard-earned hot cocoa Hunk had stashed away, Keith feels puffed full of exhilaration and another kind of emotion. 

“So,” Keith starts quietly, “do you do this for all birthdays?” he asks, a little nervous about the answer for a reason he can’t pin. He takes a foamy mouthful as he looks over at Hunk. 

Hunk seems to weigh his answers, but ultimately nods. “Yeah, I try to. Sometimes it’s a little tricky with work but I usually manage.” He looks over at Keith and grins his big triumphant grin. “You were how I managed this year,” he chuckles, then draws up his mug for a toast. Keith haltingly clinks with him, though he can’t help but feel a bit shell-shocked. How many crew birthdays happen in a year and how had he not been aware Hunk has been a starring role behind many of them? 

Keith grows a little cold. “But, why even bother? Why don’t you ask people to help you? Do you? This seems a bit ridiculous to do on your own,” he mutters. He knows what it sounds like but hopes Hunk knows it’s not aimed at him. 

Hunk’s giggle reclaims Keith's attention. His hand jars the angst oozing thoughts as he reaches over to roughly muss Keith's hair. “Keith, my man, it’s not really about that for me. I do it because I love it, just like I love my job and the people I work with,” he placates, clapping Keith on the back. 

Keith almost wants to flinch at the idea of being the one who needs to be soothed in this situation. But Hunk carries on, “It’s not ridiculous to me because it’s all worth it when I see their face and how much they appreciate it. It’s one of the reasons I do it,” he chuckles. His hand radiates on Keith’s shoulder. “I’m not a saint; it does sometimes suck to bust ass by myself, but it’s all forgotten when everyone enjoys it the next day. So it’s really not that bad and besides, it’s a bit of an ego boost,” Hunk winks, and Keith blinks from his eyes to his lips to the wall. 

He doesn’t get to speak more on the matter as he watches Hunk slide off his stool and walk around the counter to hover over the florentines. “Now get over here, it’s time to get drizzy,” he smirks, cracking his knuckles. 

Keith eventually learns ‘drizzy’ just means drizzling (he was too scared to ask), but it immediately makes him break into a sweat as Hunk melts the leftover chocolate. It seems like something that takes a practiced, steady hand and a lot of finesse to pull off. But as he watches Hunk dip a spoon into the mixture, and proceed to flick his wrist without abandon, Keith has to admit it looks… fun. While Hunk continues demonstrating, Keith is reminded of a concert conductor leading his own cookie quartet. Aforementioned chocolate maestro, of course, realizes Keith's eyes of interest and barely concealed smile and drags him over to force his hand. Literally. 

Hunk’s fingers hold Keith’s wrist delicately, his small movements guiding Keith along and soon he realizes this was actually the easy part. Soon he’s drizzling away, and then he and Hunk are competing over who’s conducting technique could accomplish the best drizzle based how much chocolate actually made it onto the cookie. As opposed to painting the counter, baking sheet, wrists, their shirts and even faces. It is, indeed, fun. Though Keith still apologizes for certain rogue wrist snaps, it’s worth it to finally put down their spoons and declare themselves triumphant over the day. 

Except, “Hold on, before we celebrate with some stowed ice cream, there’s one more thing we need to do.” Keith’s inscrutable eyes contradicted Hunk's determined squint. 

He watches as Hunk turns to the freezer that stores their day’s efforts and takes out the tiramisu that has mostly set. Stares in apprehension as chocolate is spooned into a piping bag, which Keith can actually recognize, and looks at where he’s placed the tiramisu in front of Keith. He sucks a breath as Hunk slowly pipes careful lettering onto the top, his brow quirked and his hands steady. ‘Happy’ slowly appears, and then ‘Birthday’ follows under it. After he’s written ‘Shiro’ in elegant strokes Keith is impressed he managed to fit it on such a small surface until he realizes Hunk isn’t done. With wide eyes, Keith watches as he manages to adjust his lettering to draw a small, sweet heart and sign his name. Then keeps gaping as Hunk turns to look at him with a mischievous grin and takes Keith’s hand to give him the piping bag. 

Keith's mouth flaps a few times, looking at the dessert awaiting his own signature, and at the writing utensil in his hand. “But… I thought you didn’t sign cakes,” he mumbles a little dumbly. 

Hunk coughs a laugh. “According to you, anyway. And we’re signing this one, buddy,” he affirms as his arm nudges Keith forward. Keith gulps, but with Hunk’s watchful and admittedly soothing presence at his back, he manages to swallow his pride and attempt his best scrawl. It’s clumsy and obviously contrasts the rest of the lettering but it’s legible and Keith’s just relieved it’s over with. As soon as he puts the piping bag down and turns to Hunk for the critique on his obviously lacking script, he’s engulfed in warmth again. 

Hunk’s warmth wraps around him; arms tight and round belly touching Keith’s. All Keith can do is sink into Hunk’s arms in relief, exhaustion, and in satisfaction. Not to mention, Hunk has always been a great hugger and Keith’s a bit of a stranger to physical signs of affection in friendship. He's glad he’s gotten better compared to the past. 

Although this level of sentiment after the day they spent together is a bit shocking it's not wholly unexpected, and Keith can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it. He sighs as he sags a little into Hunk’s shoulder. 

Rumbling chuckles next to Keith’s chest make him smile. Pats on his back from Hunk’s large hands make him laugh, and as Keith pulls away he catches one of Hunk’s many grins that night. He feels the warmth from the hug bloom on his cheeks and he looks to his shoes in an attempt to steady himself. 

In the end, their work for tonight is done; everyone will help in decorating the common room the next morning. After someone has successfully lured Shiro away from his training and responsibilities, the real celebration will begin. 

As Hunk and Keith yawn their way back to their respective rooms in the dorms, they catch each other’s eyes and chuckle wryly before disbanding to get some much-needed rest. 

The next day, plans start early and require everybody to cooperate. All involved are gathered in one of the staff storages to avoid Shiro’s prying eyes and begin their tasks. 

Allura stands before them with a stern expression, Coran standing by holding a quintessentially-Coran-clipboard, and asks if they have any questions. Slightly cramped in their makeshift headquarters, they all murmur to each other briefly until reassured about their roles. Code names are assigned, deemed unnecessary, then kept nonetheless at the behest of Lance and Pidge. Keith can’t even remember his. Then they disperse in a hoopla of “When I say ‘Vol’, you say ‘Tron!” that no one sticks around to complete. Correctly anyway, and no Keith doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Work has been hectic as usual so the planning isn’t tightly pinned down like it could have been, but Keith is certain they’ll somehow pull it off. Everyone’s pitched in some way or another and he knows his mission. 

Because this is Shiro’s birthday which hasn’t happened in literal years, they decided to go all out. So despite how shaky organization is a lot has to be done. Crews would arrive to set up various attractions inside and outside and Shiro couldn’t even be in the vicinity in an effort to ensure the element of surprise. 

In reality, Shiro is a busy guy in charge of the Voltron department, but that doesn’t mean he can’t find a way to check in on all of them in the same day. It made him a great boss, but also means that everyone has a shift with the same basic goals: survey, distract, and report. Keith and Lance have been entrusted with most of the time allotted since all three are in the same department and usually spend the most time training and tinkering together. 

Keith has been assigned first shift of Operation: Bamboozle Shiro (which he hadn’t come up with, don’t ask) since he and Shiro’s workspaces are next to each other. They usually train together early in the main crew gym anyway and Lance will join later, busy assisting the others in the meantime which won’t be seen as suspicious since he's usually adjusting equipment with Hunk for the first half of the day. The other’s shifts will trickle down from there and if they calculated their time right, not to mention hope and pray, then things will work out. 

And Keith totally isn’t thinking about what happened the day before and who he had spent it with and what they had spent it doing. Well, he thinks, it sounds like they did something illicit, he winces. Which obviously wasn’t the case, but due to some unforeseen and… distressing dreams Keith had experienced the night before, the subsequent lack of sleep made for some interesting emotions rolling around in his mind so he has elected not to think of it further. As to not distract himself from the matter at hand, obviously. A matter he desperately wants to go well. 

As he and Shiro meet as usual in the training hall to spar, Keith has to shake his head to clear thoughts of dark hair and darker eyes from his mind. Okay, this is annoying, he mentally scowls. He rolls his neck on his shoulders; he has to be present to convince Shiro of nothing amiss or different today. He can do this. 

He and Shiro exchange the accustomed small talk, and Keith lets himself soak in the feeling of excitement and accustomed apprehension for what will follow later in the day. Lets himself smile at the thought of what they all have in store for someone Keith is certain he will love and respect for the rest of his career and life. Keith usually got like this every year, but since this year has the date to match he feels it in additional nerves and emotions. 

He sincerely hopes Shiro will love it. He knows he’ll appreciate it because of course Shiro will, he’s grateful and kind so it isn’t a question. But Keith fervently wishes Shiro will actually enjoy it as well, and that has him prickling a little with anxiety, but he pushes it down as they set themselves in their stances to begin. 

As their movements weave and quicken in practice and friendly competition, Keith’s heart rate picks up. It oddly incites him to remember the last time his heartbeat was this active- which brings him back to last night, and the day before. His heart squeezing and stuttering, continuously caught off guard. He’s so absorbed in remembering certain smiles, large belly laughs, and soft warmness he hadn’t experienced before, that he hasn’t noticed Shiro advancing towards him in swift measured steps and deftly knocking him on his back. Shiro stands over him briefly, ready to counter whatever he’s sure Keith will throw at him before he realizes Keith isn’t currently going for his legs or anything else in fact. 

“You alright, Keith? Should we take a break?” he levels, holding out a steady hand to help pull Keith back up. Keith takes it, clenches his hand a little stronger than necessary and hopes Shiro doesn’t notice.

He takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow a deep breath into his chest, then expels heavily to rid himself of any residual flickers of large hands, strong dependable arms, or a particular broad chest. Determined, he shakes his head and catches Shiro’s gaze with his reinforced eyes. Shiro assesses him quietly until he adjusts his own stance. They continue.

After, Shiro’s fairly easily distracted and occupied as they follow their usual routine, albeit with fewer outbursts from Lance because of his absence and none of Hunk’s guest appearances. The thought of Hunk threatens to wretch Keith’s head back into the weird, fuzzy abyss where his focus goes to die, so he starts tinkering with whatever piece of equipment he’s currently holding. He’s admittedly still not as immersed in work as he probably should be. Shiro is humming lowly from his own station, doing something familiar with his arm prosthetic, probably attempting to re-calibrate it again. Keith makes a mental note to ask Pidge to their workshop later. 

The door of the warehouse creaks open noisily, bringing both pairs of eyes up to source it. Lance stands there, looking a bit pleased with himself for a reason Keith probably doesn’t care to ask about. Lance waves enthusiastically at them both and Keith, a bit at a loss, slowly waves back. 

“Hey, Lance. What’s up?” Shiro smiles, putting his tools aside. Lance skips further into the room until he gets closer to the corner of the warehouse they're working in. 

He saunters over to Shiro, throwing a companionable arm over his, ahem, boss. Although that’s Lance, Keith reminds himself, tempted to roll his eyes but somewhat smiles instead. Or, he might do both. 

“Ah, not much you big lug, thanks for asking. I’m actually just here to send a message,” Lance looks over from his personal space invading position to Keith. “Hunk was looking for you dude, might wanna go see what he wants,” he nods. He throws in an ‘inconspicuous’ wink. This time Keith just sighs. 

Shiro, ever patient, pats Lance’s back and moves on whether it was noticed or not. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. We all have to beta test Hunk and Pidge’s-” 

Lance is nodding before Shiro finishes and interrupts importantly, shoving his other pointer finger in the air. “Ah, yes! Their newest space weapon majigger!” 

“Bayard,” Shiro corrects. Lance continues on like he hadn’t heard, or like he thought his name for it was better. 

“Lay it on me, brochacho,” he smiles, ever eager to test the limits of their tech team’s designs and brag about it later. Shiro chuckles and Keith shakes his head. He shouldn't encourage Lance’s shenanigans. 

Keith waves to them briefly, receiving a respective nod and a finger waggle and exits the warehouse with a laugh. As he makes his way to the common room they’re setting up, Keith’s stomach starts bubbling with restless energy again. He pretends to not know why. 

Clearing his throat unnecessarily, he peeks his head into the room from behind the door frame. His eyes search, ahem, glance around the room until they land on a figure in the center of the commotion setting up what looks like dessert display plates. Keith unconsciously lets out a heavy breath.

Eyes somehow catch and lock. Smiles are exchanged with silence, one bigger than the other. Silence continues until Pidge throws a wad of balled paper at Hunk’s head while passing his table. Hunk bursts first, his teeth bright from across the room. Keith follows, albeit a little quieter; nervous. Hunk waves a few times before resuming his work. Keith tries inhaling a few more times before he commits to appearing. 

He doesn’t go straight for Hunk like he has to admit he kind of wants to, telling himself it's their spoils from the war that call him to obsess over his work. Instead, he goes to the back of the room where Allura and Coran are chatting very seriously about what sounds like the placement of napkins. Keith doesn’t think too hard about it.

Their conversation doesn’t stop when Keith approaches but he doesn’t expect it to; the concentration in Allura’s eyes is not to be trifled with. Coran scribbles something down in what looked like a list of other important party enabling notes and scurries off. Keith watches him skip back out the door. 

He refocuses onto Allura and finds her scrutinizing her clipboard with the narrowed gaze only the Director of Personnel and Operations would have. Keith’s almost scared to speak up but she realizes him standing waywardly after he itches his ankle with a shoe. She gives him an exasperated smile. “Keith, I’m glad you’re here. We have a lot to do!” Her voice is chipper but her pen is clenched in her hand, and Keith makes a note to keep questions to a minimum. 

“I’m here to help, just tell me where to go,” he decides on. Allura’s smile slips into something more genuine and she gives a nod, grateful for his candor. She takes a large breath and Keith braces himself. Then they’re off. 

At some point Hunk had slipped out and Lance had slipped back into the fray. Keith only realizes when he hears his and Pidge’s bickering about where to put the bubble machine. Which had actually been Allura’s idea; Keith still chuckles about it. 

Outside attractions take longer than planned and though Coran is expediting as well as he can manage to spare Allura a bigger stress headache, she still nearly snaps her clipboard in half. Maybe she had, Keith didn’t want to stare too long lest he is used as a replacement. 

All things considered, things go well and they’re finally ready for their big so-called ‘shindig.’ “Operation Bamboozle Shiro is gonna be a major success!” Lance makes certain to assure all involved as they filter out to get changed and procure said bamboozlee. They really need to stop letting Lance name everything.

Then, it’s zero hour, and a blindfolded Shiro is being led in by a bustling Coran. The lights dim while Shiro’s unhanded and unsheathed. His eyes don’t get an adjustment period past the few seconds he gets to gather himself until the lights are blinked back on. Crew members pop out of every available crevice and shout, and in Lance, Coran and Hunk’s cases, wail, birthday wishes. Keith won’t let Lance live it down later, even if he’s close to something similar. 

Shiro’s eyes blink back into focus, his smile in place before he even realizes what’s actually happening. Keith grins unabashedly as he watches his comprehension, snorts when Hunk and Coran go in for a double team bear hug. Shiro’s guffawing laughter can be heard around the entire common room as he’s briefly picked up and carried to the middle of the room by Hunk and Lance, Pidge trailing after while badly playing the kazoo. 

After a few more birthday yowls from the crowd, Shiro is set down and immediately accosted with a flamboyant birthday hat and a party blower placed in his mouth. He takes to both readily and as soon as the first one is unleashed, party blowers are all that can be heard for miles, Keith wages. 

Given the proverbial go-ahead to party and wang chung tonight away by the birthday boy, the festivities are in full swing. Hugs are passed around, a 'job well done' to some, ‘happy birthday boss’ from others and Keith wants to soak it all in before he makes his way over. 

Lance finds him that way, not completely isolated from the crowd but separated enough to have ample room to breathe and take in their surroundings. Keith prefers it that way sometimes, though not always, not anymore. Lance bumps his shoulder as he joins him. “Where’s your party spirit, Keithy boy?” 

Keith tries not to clench his hands too tightly and glances over with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t answer and Lance snorts at his predictable reaction. He doesn’t say sorry, but Keith didn’t expect him to. “Having fun?” Lance continues as he surveys the room with him. Keith can’t help but smile a little more genuinely than he’s used to around this many people. 

“He looks like he’s having enough fun for all of us,” Keith says instead, looking at Shiro being cajoled into clumsily dancing with Coran and Allura. It looks like they’re attempting the electric slide but Keith’s never been one to distinguish one embarrassing dance from another. Shiro’s broad grin never falters though, even as Coran turns the wrong way and haphazardly bumps into him. Keith’s limbs feel a little numb from seeing Shiro so lighthearted and happy. 

“Alright, alright, any more of that and your eyes will melt out of your head, you soppy popsicle,” Lance groans, elbowing him. Keith sighs over him but Lance is smiling indulgently. He pats Keith’s shoulder before he points towards the bubble machine that was currently wreaking havoc on Pidge’s ability to not swat at random passersby while bubble hunting. Both shiver thinking of the inevitable consequences.

The party continues in a similar fashion. The photobooth Pidge set up is thoroughly taken advantage of by all in attendance, as well as the bouncy house he’s not sure who ordered, and the inflatable obstacle course he made sure to get. Lance’s icee stand also proves to be a popular attraction as many get into flavored crushed ice fights outside. 

And then it’s time. And Keith isn’t sure if he’s ready. For multiple things really, including seeing Hunk ensuing the night of being completely surrounded by his presence and personality. Keith swallows again. 

Not only that, but Keith’s having unreasonable anxiety about his participation in their baking triathlon. What if he had fucked everything up because he somehow used salt instead of sugar? Hunk would be thrown under the bus and Keith would die a horrific painful death due to consequential blame and embarrassment. 

Keith’s broken from his reverie of death and dying when a large and increasingly familiar hand clasps his shoulder. Keith’s violet eyes snap up to brown sugar irises and stick there until the wide smile below them distracts him. Hunk’s smile is very distracting, in Keith’s defense. 

Right, Keith’s probably meant to greet him or something but he grasps at breathless straws, grimacing at his own floundering. Hunk just smiles small and impossibly warm and slowly Keith feels toasted back to life. Hunk gestures in the direction of the door and Keith takes point after him to what he assumes is the way to the kitchen. He can do this. 

Right.

A short, quiet, heart thump filled walk to the kitchen and then Keith is staring a little anxiously at the tiramisu. Like it’s Shiro. Like it’s somehow Shiro and he’s smiling that smile when he’s uncomfortable but completely too nice to show it, eyes nervous and mouth slightly pinched. Or, like it’s somehow Shiro and he’s smiling the smile when he’s genuinely touched, his eyes soft and mouth crooked. Keith gulps. He doesn’t know which one he hopes for; both scenarios make Keith feel like his stomach’s gonna bottom out. 

“Wow, I’ve never seen someone look so glum while staring at dessert, you’ve got a real talent my man,” Hunk booms. Well, technically he isn’t even being loud, it just feels like he spoke right into Keith’s ear as he cuts through all the anxiety and nerves swirling around him. Keith clings to his voice as an anchor, feels his shoulders lower and loosen as Hunk’s warm palm cups his right shoulder blade. The static in Keith’s head simmers. 

“I-,” he clears his throat, “I’m not glum, it looks great,” he says steadily. Stiffly. 

He feels the warmth of Hunk’s body heat get closer, forgets to look up from his shoes as Hunk settles next to him, his arm now across his back. “The cake doesn’t look like it’s about to sprout legs and leave with your first born, though,” his voice echoes in his emptied out mind. Wait, what?

“What are you even talking about?” The confusion is enough for Keith to finally look over. Hunk’s closer than he thought. 

He chuckles at Keith's expression, his smile tilted and eyes gentle. “I’m saying no one should be looking at dessert like that unless it just threatened their livelihood, dude,” his voice is rich and teasing. Keith feels a small bubble of hot embarrassment erupt in his chest. “Unless the one I should be worried about is you?” His eyes gain a perceptive edge and they pin Keith in place. 

Keith tries to tear his eyes away but only succeeds halfway, his gaze snagging on Hunk’s mouth. “You’re worried about me sprouting legs and leaving with your first born? Hate to break it to you but I’m halfway there,” he quips fruitlessly, his smile small and shaky. At least he’s learned one thing from Lance. It surprises a genuine laugh from Hunk though, his full lips shocked open, so maybe not so fruitless. A lot of Lance’s personality makes sense now. 

“I knew this day would come,” Hunk sniffs. The reprieve from Keith’s nerves doesn’t last long, however. Hunk steps a millimeter closer and lowers his voice as if to share a secret, “You okay?” That secret apparently being Keith’s glaring insecurities. 

Keith finally looks back into Hunk’s eyes. Soaks himself in their coffee-colored patience and wonders what he must look from Hunk's perspective.

Keith doesn’t know that Hunk sees something he finds familiar. Doesn’t recognize the fondness Hunk radiates.

“Maybe you should be the one to give it to Shiro,” Keith murmurs and tries to ignore how small his voice sounds.

“So you can throw me under the bus if it turns out like an espresso shot no one wants to risk the heart palpitations for? No way, we’re going down together,” Hunk smirks, his volume matching Keith’s. He still hasn’t moved away. His eyes look so deep. 

Keith doesn’t know his mouth is talking until it is. “But what if it does turn out like an espresso no one wants to risk dying for?” He doesn't realize he’s whispering.

His eyes feel wide as he stares up at Hunk. He feels so close, maybe not just physically. His arm’s still on his back. His side’s touching his, heat seeping into Keith down to his fingertips and up to his cheeks that feel like stovetops. 

“Then it’s their loss and we’ll eat all of it in front of them out of spite,” Hunk replies evenly. “We’ll also add some over exaggerated moans to make them so uncomfortable they never mention it again.” Keith can’t imagine himself doing any of that but Hunk could probably get him to, somehow. Hunk smiles again. Yeah, probably. “And besides.” Keith’s brain is interrupted imagining what kind of noises would qualify. “I’m pretty sure you could make Shiro a mud pie and he’d still want to frame it and be endlessly proud of you,” Hunk chuckles. His lips look so lush. 

“You think he’d frame a mud pie? Is that even possible?” Keith manages to smirk. 

Hunk waves away his query; Keith doesn’t notice his slightly ruddy cheeks. “The point is Shiro will love it and will eat it regardless if it’s the biggest crash he’ll ever experience,” he reassures. He’s probably right and it does something funny to Keith’s chest. 

Keith drags a deep breath in and exhales shakily. Hunk takes another one with him and afterward Keith feels a bit like smiling. Okay, maybe he’s ready. 

Hunk lets Keith lead the way through the throng of party goers, the noise level reaching maximum party blower capacity once again, and Keith tries not to slip on any soapy floor on his way over. Hunk’s presence behind him is enough to mellow his shaking for the most part, and when they reach Shiro he’s grateful. His legs feel like jelly. 

“Keith, Hunk! We’ve been looking for you guys!” Shiro manages to shout over the music. Keith knows its jovial even without hearing him properly over the beat-driven pop music. Keith can’t help but smile, and as the surrounding crowd realizes that he is in fact carrying something spillable and probably tasty, they give him a wide berth. Hunk also probably had something to do with it, since Keith still hears him gently herding people in different directions. 

As Keith is about to respond, the music’s volume is lowered considerably. Keith’s glad for many reasons; he doesn’t have to shout and he’s not the only noise in the room but now everyone’s definitely looking at him. Again, as Keith’s mouth begins to form a muddled mess of ‘please like this thing I made for you,’ he’s interrupted by a voice and a person somehow appearing next to Shiro. 

“They were off making cake babies, Shiro, didn’t you know?” Lance saucily butts in with a wink and drops a clumsy arm on Shiro’s shoulders. Keith’s smile twitched. Before he gets a chance to defend himself and maybe call Lance a word or two (like sloppy), Pidge seems to materialize behind Lance’s back. They’re like a pair of scheming magicians, Keith thinks sourly. 

“Among other things, probably,” Pidge leers. Keith throws up his proverbial hands, he hasn’t even said anything yet and he’s honestly feeling so attacked right now.

“What does that even mean?” Hunk perplexes somewhere behind him. Keith takes his lead and tries to play it off. Nonchalant, and not twice as anxious by now. He’s as chill as a chilly chucumber. Ahem, cucumber. 

“Guys, Keith obviously came to say something so let’s all give him a break, alright?” Shiro, the god of reason and Keith’s current nomination for President of Everything Ever, blessedly interrupts. 

“Uh, yeah, me and Hunk made this for you and we hope you like it and it doesn’t kill you-” 

“Amen,” Lance and Pidge mutter in unison. Keith plows on, mentally clenching both fists for justified noogies later.

“And happy birthday, Shiro,” Keith tries not to stutter. Shiro looks like he’s about to start crying ghibli tears and he doesn’t lose said look for the rest of the night. 

The crowd musters one good echo of “Happy birthday, Shiro!” and proceeds to mangle the happy birthday song due to varying stages of inebriation. Keith still has fun, and Shiro laughs more that Keith has seen in months. 

After everyone is served a piece of the espresso-and-barely-cake tiramisu, Hunk manages to catch up with them. “I didn’t know you loved coffee this much, Shiro,” Hunk smiles after hearing his energetic and jittery sung praises. 

Keith watches as Shiro looks over at him with eyes barely less than manic. “Coffee keeps me alive,” he states soberly. Good ol’ Shiro. 

Later, more drinks have been passed around and Keith’s feeling buzzed on the drink in his hand and the energy soaking into his pores from the scene around him. Keith watches as Allura and Coran fight, or as Coran would dutifully put it, squabbled, over who would sing an embarrassing karaoke rendition of Jesse McCartney’s ‘Beautiful Soul’. Keith hadn’t even noticed Coran sneak in the karaoke machine since they had agreed to not bring them anymore because of cases like this. Oh well, it’s always nice to watch and pretend he isn’t filming for his ‘Karaoke or Karaohno’ folder on his phone. He and Shiro like to share particularly gory takes.

“Hey, Keithy boy,” Hunk’s voice filters in through Coran’s passionate performance which included shimmying around the karaoke machine and unsuspecting bystanders. Keith looks over to see Hunk’s smile, Keith’s subsequently disappearing once he processes what he just heard.

“Don’t call me that,” he snips. Afterall, he can’t change who he is. 

Hunk nods rapidly, “Yeah I should have realized following Lance’s example was probably a bad idea.” Keith can’t help but crack a bemused smile. Hunk continues, his eyes flitting around Keith’s face oddly before he says, “Hey, you wanna go somewhere a little quieter? I can barely hear you and we have a lot to brag about tonight,” he says smugly. 

Keith can feel his face fighting to remain neutral and settles for nodding to avoid a medley of ‘yeah, yes, yep, can I pee first?’ 

Hunk leads their way to the front of the room, where they slip away to the smaller commons next door that they had been using to store extra party equipment. Now it stands mostly empty except for a convenient couch at the back of the room, along with a large window that fills the room with bright moonlight. Keith’s ears are thrown off balance from their change in environment as Hunk’s feet shuffle softly over the old carpet.

They share an unspoken agreement to keep the light off to dampen the chaotic atmosphere. He stays quiet an effort to compose himself and not accidentally shout in Hunk’s face. Stray noises still filter through the padded wall, and occasionally Coran’s warbled serenade makes it through; Keith jots a mental note to ask if anyone filmed it the next day. 

Hunk speaks first. “Quite a party, huh?” Keith whips his head over to face him, although not necessarily on purpose. He just can’t help but notice that throughout the night Lance’s loud pulsing beats had taken its toll, Hunk’s voice now slightly rough, low and maybe worst, close. Keith realizes he might sound similar and hopes it's at least half as attractive. 

After unsuccessfully clearing his throat quietly, he risks speech. “Quite a party, indeed.” Keith doesn’t sound like himself, literally and figuratively but he tries to ignore it. 

Hunk's shy smile reminds Keith’s that even though it’s only been a day and some odd hours since they last sat on a couch together, Hunk’s closer than ever. His strong thigh is basically sandwiching Keith and the armrest but Keith couldn’t be less bothered. Apparently, Hunk feels similarly because he doesn’t move. 

“You were great,” Hunk grins, big cheeks and bigger smiles and Keith needs to catch his breath. 

“W-what do you mean? All I did was give Shiro the cake we made.” Keith hears himself falter and dies a thousand deaths while trying to keep his blood from racing to his face and blooming on his cheeks and probably his forehead, too. His capillaries feel like they’re contending to see which fucking blood cell could say hi to Hunk first; see how fast it takes for them all to form ‘hey ya big lug’ on his fucking forehead. But he didn’t stutter and blood cells don’t know how to spell so everything’s fine. 

Except, he did stutter and he’s made of blood cells. In fact, he does know how to spell and if he doesn’t get his blushing shit together he will, in fact, spell his own embarrassing death. 

Hunk’s halo is almost too much to handle this close, especially when he rasps a laugh and his white teeth catch the moonlight. “It’s not just that, dummy, I meant during this whole thing. Shiro obviously loved it, and I don’t think I could have done it at all without you,” he boasts, voice slipping from gratified to… Keith can’t find anything else to describe it other than tender. But that doesn’t make any sense. Right? 

“You mentioned that before. You do this every time we have a birthday? I had no idea.” Keith wills himself to stop his metaphysical trembling and be the chilling chucumber again. Hunk’s smile twinges but he shrugs, trying to avoid confirmation of the truth. That he must work himself ragged not only during work hours but also to celebrate the off ones. Again, Keith feels like punching a thousand suns, or mostly himself for not realizing it sooner. 

“M-maybe I can help next time,” Keith continues without checking with his brain first. But its true, he wants to lessen the burden this stupidly hard working and wonderful person has taken on. He’s grown addicted to Hunk’s company. 

“Why are you stuttering,” Hunk whispers. Keith’s senses go on red alert, fight or flight or faint juggling through his system. But, maybe that's the party and the drinks, or maybe it’s the probable overdose of caffeine still in his system. 

It Hunk's all-consuming gaze that incites, “I’ve never had your sole attention for this long and you’re one of the most attractive people I know,” Keith mumbles.

He watches and hears Hunk audibly gulp, before he whispers back, “One of?” 

Keith manages a shaky eyebrow raise. “I mean, you’ve seen Shiro and Allura.” 

Hunk’s smile reappears, small and amused and edges trembling. “Point taken.” They stare at each other for a short hair-raising moment. “But you were fine yesterday.” 

Keith is surprised they’ve opened this channel of conversation but is excited to follow it, eager to see where it takes him and his clammy palms. “Barely. We were on your home turf, you had an unfair advantage,” Keith grouses. 

Hunk smirks attractively, damn it. “Yeah well, your home turf is literally everywhere else on the Garrison. Honestly, you’re always running off somewhere ready to be the first one to try a new piece of equipment or sparring with Lance or Shiro. Sometimes Lance _and_ Shiro. Cut me some slack here,” he teases. 

Keith’s face is probably spelling something embarrassing again, like ‘wow you’re pretty’ or ‘kiss here’ with a big fucking arrow pointing to his lips. Although would he really mind? 

Hunk continues in his graveled murmur, “I meant what I said, you were amazing.” Hunk clears his throat, licks his lips and scoots minutely closer, the couch groaning unattractively. Keith can’t think beyond the sounds. “You’re always amazing,” he chuckles. 

Keith? Keith is? Keith is… moving. His left hand isn’t clenched in his right anymore, it’s in Hunk’s hair and its moving and it’s tugging and his face is leaning and then Hunk is everywhere. 

Hunk is in his hands, both now cupping his soft cheeks and fingers tangling in his hair to draw him closer. Their lips press warmly together, soft skin sliding to slot into place. Hunk’s hand find Keith’s wrist, stroking it softly and Keith can’t help but part his mouth to catch Hunk’s plump bottom lip between his. 

He kisses as sweetly as he can manage because it’s what Hunk deserves, he only hopes he’s doing it right. Keith breathes in deeply through his nose as he feels Hunk lean closer still, towering over him and pressing him back into the cushions of the sofa. Hunk's hand shifts from Keith’s wrist to cup cold nervous fingers still in his hair. Keith can’t help but suck lightly on Hunk’s lip at the gesture, Hunk letting a small gasp escape. Keith briefly separates only to kiss his full mouth again and feels the hand around his tighten.

He registers a burning palm trailing up between his shoulder blades until it settles on the top of his spine. Hunk separates their lips to peck him once, twice, the third lingering as his hand sneaks up to the nape of his neck, his fingers scratching up his scalp lightly and intertwining in his hair. Keith shivers and kisses firmer. He feels liquid gold in his bones. 

Hunk’s tongue is soft and exploratory, tasting Keith’s and tasting of vanilla custard. Their arms move to hold each other close, hands grasping tighter, mouths melding together as they pant to breathe each other in. Keith’s limbs feel as though he’s swimming through honey: surrounded by a warmth that made him sluggish but restless and encased him in a heat that scalded but warmed him to the core.

While sitting on a couch in a common room in the Galaxy Garrison for Space Research and Exploration, Keith has never felt closer to the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! i started this a few months after my last hance but alas the creative process wants me dead so...  
> and i managed to finish it in time for hunkshipweek's prompt of warmth/strength so im over the moon!!  
> if you have any questions about the AU hmu i cant guarantee ill have the answers but i can try :)  
> thanks to all the people who made writing this possible with all their love and support <3 
> 
> comments are always appreciated!!  
> find me on [tumblr](http://daretoweeb.tumblr.com)!  
> [fic tumblr post](http://hunk-network.tumblr.com/post/175690829099/sun-in-your-lap-daretoweeb-legendoflesli)


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